“Mister Cox, lock heading to that ship—the one in the distance—and commence flyby maneuvers.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Bring us to within one-hundred and fifty thousand mc’s at the closest point. If the ship changes position, adjust heading accordingly and inform me.”
“Understood, Commander.”
The ship turned and the planet became visible out the window. It looked small from this distance, but the local sun was bouncing enough light off its white icy surface for it to be seen by the naked eye. And just beyond it was a tiny green light, it looked like a star except for its color. Summers was sure that was the ship she wanted to investigate first: the one that looked nothing like the others.
“Project the target ship on the 3d display.”
Cassidy acknowledged and manually changed the image. It became a lot clearer and more focused, much of the detail was now noticeable, but Summers still could not identify the ship’s make or origin, despite her defense officer training. She considered that her fault. Even though she hadn’t been a defense officer in years, such was not an excuse to let everything she’d learned slip out of her head.
“Can anyone identify the origin of that ship?” asked Summers.
“It looks… Rotham to me,” said Midshipman Ford. Summers agreed, based on its angular features and sharp contours. Certainly there was nothing Polarian or Imperial that stood out about it. But guesswork wasn’t going to be enough. If a Rotham ship was in Polarian space, without being fired on, that implied a kind of cooperation that would likely prove extremely dangerous for the Empire.
“Can you identify the model?” she asked.
“No, sir. I’m sorry. The computer should be able to. I don’t think I’ve seen a ship like it before.”
Summers nodded. “Neither have I.”
The ship’s singular green light proved to be many green lights as they approached it. Once they were side by side with it and at their best angle, Cassidy scanned it full strength. “Okay, feeding the images to the computer now,” she said. There was a beep as the computer found a match almost instantly. “It’s a Rotham ship, you were right,” she said, staring at the output on her terminal. “It’s an XT-37 micro frigate.”
“Micro frigate?” She’d never heard of that classification. “You mean corvette? Or possibly sloop?”
“The computer says micro frigate,” said Cassidy.
“It’s a corvette,” Midshipman Ford chimed in. “I recognize it now. Definitely one of the older ships. They badged them as ‘micro-frigates’ to distinguish them from the smaller corvettes, but she’s a corvette all right. Not too many of these were ever made. Hardly saw any action during the Great War.”
“See if you can identify this exact vessel,” said Summers. “Mister Cox, alter course. It’s time to do a flyby of the planet. Let’s get a good scan of those orbiting ships and whatever’s on the surface.”
“Aye, sir.”
“It will likely take several passes, including some orbits of our own,” said Cassidy, “if we’re going to get all of the intel we can.”
Summers nodded. “Begin the first flyby, then alter course according to Cassidy’s instructions. I want to get images of every square centimeter of that planet. And I want to identify every one of those ships. If something sinister is going on here, like Calvin suspects, I want to find it.” In truth she didn’t much care what happened outside of Imperial space. But if this was indeed the spot where the deadliest weapons in the history of the universe were being manufactured, it would affect the lives of countless Imperial citizens. Uncovering the secrets here was an important task and she was happy to be doing it, but she’d rather be on Capital World with Calvin hunting down the corruption in the Empire to its darkest hiding places. Godspeed Calvin… be careful.
“From what I can tell so far,” said Cassidy, “there definitely is some major industrial infrastructure here. And a lot of it has been hastily disassembled. Some of it destroyed. Most of it still remains, though. I’ll get the best images I can.”
So they were trying to bury the evidence. Fortunately they hadn’t been fast enough.
“And there is some kind of residual product being dumped into the atmosphere of the planet. Looks like it could be the byproduct of a weaponizing process. I’ll know more once the computer and the lab have analyzed a sample. I wish I could launch a probe to scoop some up and begin studying it.”
Unfortunately a probe would be seen. Despite how small they were, the little bit of heat they gave off would likely trigger red flags on every ship here. “Don’t worry, we’ll retrieve a sample on our next pass,” said Summers. “Mister Cox, alter course on our next pass to comply. Cassidy will provide nav coordinates.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And whatever you do, keep that escape vector calculated and ready to go.”
“Aye, sir.”
“And Midshipman Ford, keep both of those eyes glued to that stealth system.”
“Yes, Commander.”
It might be a long process, but it was one Summers intended to do right. If the information they collected here meant the difference between a safe Empire and a corrupt and endangered one, she and her crew had to do the best damn job they could. Even though taking their time meant delaying their rendezvous with their away crew—and new recruits—and having to wait for resupply and repair. So long as the stealth system, life support, and engines held together, everything would be all right.
***
Blackmoth made his way casually through the city. Blending in with the hurried crowds. He moved with the flow and no one paid him any attention. He knew where he was going—and he knew what he had to do.
The false master Zane had asked for the deed to be a suicide. Blackmoth had prayed about it and asked the One True God—the One True God agreed. The target’s time to return to the darkness had come. And a suicide would be an appropriate final message from the soon-to-be-slain to his surviving friends and family. For a false master, Zane Martel was often in agreement with the One True God. More so than the other false master.
Blackmoth reached the apartment tower and went around the back. When no one was looking, he ran and leapt—an almost inhuman leap—and caught the railing of a lower balcony. He proceeded to free-climb all the way to the twentieth floor. Not because he had to. He could have reached the target’s flat by taking the stairs. But because it was divine Will. The One True God wanted him to work for this kill, so work he would. He moved cautiously, swift when no one was around and remaining still when someone might be watching. The One True God guided him. His arms and legs did not tire. There was pain but he ignored it. Pain was the One True God’s way of telling him he was doing what he should. And Blackmoth was grateful for the message.
When he reached the target’s balcony he found the sliding door unlocked. He’d come prepared to force the door but was grateful that the One True God had blessed him with this small mercy. It would make setting the scene all the easier.
Blackmoth silently entered the apartment and waited.
Chapter 18
Calvin’s people had hit a dead-end in the search for Merrill O’Reilly. From what they could tell he was either an alias or a scapegoat name. Whatever the case one thing was sure, Merrill O’Reilly seemed not to exist. So bringing him in for questioning was impossible. This forced Calvin to keep digging, he needed new leads that could get him to Rafael but nothing was panning out. No one from Intel Wing had responded to his order to report on the whereabouts of Rafael and the other prisoners, and Merrill O’Reilly obviously wasn’t going to be telling him anything useful.
The hunt for Michael Evans, at first, was having no more success. Calvin’s people had tracked him to his latest address and stormed it, only to find that he’d vacated the premises over a week before. Apparently after taking his bribe he’d decided to fall off the grid and disappear. At first Calvin feared that Evans had skipped world like Samantha Salas had—leaving him with no leads in the D
atar family murder, but then one of his investigators had gotten a lead and tracked Michael Evans to the Ivory Tower Estates.
He’d ordered his people to surround the residential tower and capture him. Not wanting to sit idly on his hands back at his control center in the fortified Akira Estate, Calvin decided to race to the scene himself. Nikolai insisted on coming with him, of course, happy for the chance to get into the action. As the car rolled along the congested Capital World streets, the second-to-rear car in the motorcade—following the car that carried Calvin’s body double—Calvin spent the time going over his notes of questions he intended to ask Evans. He also kept thinking about how annoyingly slow it was travelling in a motorcade and how stupid and unnecessary it was that a Calvin-look-alike had to ride in the car ahead of him. The Akiras were sparing no expense in protecting their new Executor of the Empire but Calvin found the additional security cumbersome and ridiculous. He would have preferred to go everywhere in disguise, blending into crowds invisibly, rather than paint a target on his face by travelling in a convoy of armored cars. Still, he doubted anyone would actually attack an armored convoy flying the flag of the King in broad daylight on Capital World—the Akiras were right about that, they were keeping him safe—but Calvin still would be grateful to be rid of it as soon as he could and simply be a regular person again.
“We’re here,” said Nikolai. He sat next to Calvin and spent the time in silence cleaning his handgun.
Calvin looked out the window as his car pulled up next to a medium-sized apartment tower. The general décor was a bit more upscale than most flat towers and the grounds were vibrant with color and well kept. One of the security guards got out from the front of the car and opened Calvin’s door. The rest secured a perimeter around him as he exited the vehicle.
The scene that greeted him was not what he’d expected. Sure enough his people had surrounded the tower and their vehicles could be seen, as well as soldiers-in-arms, but there were local police here too. Emergency lights flashed and even medical personnel were on the scene. In the distance Calvin saw a man taking photos of the ground. It looked like a body was sprawled out. Calvin squinted and could make out some of the gruesome features—apparently the corpse had been brutally damaged by the impact with the ground. There was a large spread of blood, tissues, and broken bones.
“Don’t tell me,” said Calvin to nobody, “let me guess…” he felt his heart quicken and he jogged to the scene. A policeman moved to intercept him but, upon realizing who Calvin was he thought better of it and stood aside.
As Calvin approached the smashed corpse, the gruesome details were more pronounced and disgusting, the skull had been completely crushed on impact—apparently he’d fallen face first—and skull fragments and grey matter had been strewn in every direction.
“Mister Executor,” the detective who was taking photographs stopped and saluted. Calvin returned the salute. Calvin’s own investigators were on the scene too, collecting evidence and minor samples.
“Murder?” asked Calvin.
“We investigate every suspicious death as murder,” explained the detective. “But so far this is looking like a suicide. Apparently the man had had enough and decided to jump twenty stories and end it all.”
Calvin looked up, raising a hand to block the sun, and he spotted an open door on one of the balconies twenty stories above. Investigators could be seen taking photos and searching for evidence up there too, from this far away they looked like ants. Calvin glanced back down at the disfigured body and had a new understanding for what a sixty meter drop onto hard pavement could do. It was revolting and he looked away.
“Why do you think it’s a suicide?” asked Calvin.
“The victim left a suicide note. Additionally the door to his flat was locked from the inside and there was no indication that it was forced.”
“Is it possible the killer was invited into the flat—perhaps he was someone the victim trusted—and then after pushing his friend off the balcony the killer left, locking the door on the way out?”
“No. Not unless he chopped off the victim’s thumb first. The door can only be locked on the outside by the registered occupant. Additionally, we’ve interviewed some of the tenants on that floor and no one saw anyone go in or out of apartment twenty-thirteen.”
Calvin didn’t find that convincing, though it was persuasive. He could imagine a very talented free-climber could get up to the balcony that way, or could have been dropped off there by a flying vehicle—though one shouldn’t have escaped notice. He could also imagine if the murder was premeditated enough in advance, the killer could have rented the apartment below or above the victim’s and then climbed to the victim’s balcony that way—and used that same path as a means of escape. There were a lot of possibilities worth investigating.
“We’ve managed to ID the victim,” said the detective. “He signed the suicide note, but we’ve also tested his DNA.”
“Let me guess: Michael Evans,” said Calvin.
“That’s right, sir.”
Calvin nodded, certain this wasn’t a suicide. Someone had found out that Calvin had wanted to bring Evans in for questioning, and had decided it was better that Calvin not get the chance. He cursed under his breath, furious that another of his best leads had dried up, but he also counted it as a minor victory. He was on the right track. He just needed to be better about keeping his plans under the Phoenix Ring’s radar—if that were possible—and get his potential assets into protective custody a lot sooner. Before more incidents happened.
“I’ll have my department send you all of the photos and evidence we collect, including a copy of the suicide note, if you’d like, sir,” the detective said.
Calvin was sure his own investigators would do an equally good—if not better—job than the local police but there was no harm in getting as much information as he could. “Thank you,” said Calvin. He walked away.
Nikolai walked at his side. “So what now?” the burly man asked.
“Get me our investigative team on the radio,” said Calvin.
Nikolai complied and handed him the radio. His teams were exchanging information about the evidence they were collecting. He decided to interrupt the chatter. “This is Executor Actual to all teams. I am certain this was a homicide and not a suicide. Search everything. And don’t stop searching until you find something.”
They acknowledged him. Calvin wasn’t overly optimistic that they’d find anything so he decided to put it from his mind. His next best angle was to try to identify the Phoenix Ring leaders themselves. He had a few ideas where to search. MXR. The Martels. Anyone who might have been connected to the Beotan cargo. Anyone in the Assembly who’d opposed the Princess’s acquittal. Any corporations or entities who support suspicious members of the Assembly. Top admirals and leaders of the Fleet. Intel Wing’s top brass. Even Director Edwards. Calvin had leads, and he intended to discover all of their secrets. Swiftly and thoroughly. With no remorse and no quarter. Every skeleton in every closet would be found.
***
“Look at that,” said Vulture.
Ryker took the binoculars from him and pointed them at the pillars of smoke rising in the west. A large part of the urban center had been torched, and in the main streets mobs of angry people clashed with soldiers in riot gear. Countless batons came crashing down on the pushing crowd, their black metal surfaces gleaming in the firelight, but as people fell or were driven back, more seemed to rally. It was the strongest push against the government’s forward position that Ryker had seen.
“Looks like our actions are bearing fruit,” he said. He scanned the horizon and noted that Imperial flags had been torn down—many of them burned. A group of rebels stood in front of the nearest Imperial outpost and torched the flags in plain sight of the soldiers. A storm of rubber bullets was fired in response, but it did little to douse the anger raging in their hearts. These citizens—who had never been fond of the Imperial government—had seen their capital destroyed b
y what had looked like the Princess’s ship; they’d watched their homes be torched to the ground by the hands of what appeared to be Imperial troops, and in the violence and chaos they’d lost countless children and loved ones. They would not be stopped by a few batons and some rubber bullets. Ryker and his Black Phantoms had done well. They’d convinced the population that the Empire was to blame for all of these tragedies. Now it looked like all-out war.
“Lemme see,” said Tank. Ryker handed him the binoculars. An ugly, crooked smile spread across Tank’s face as he took in the carnage. “Well I’ll be damned…” he said. “They—”
He was interrupted by the sound of gunfire. Instantly Ryker, Vulture, Tank, and the other men who were with him dropped to the ground. Once prone, Ryker tried to get his bearings on who was shooting whom.
“Five-point-five-six mil,” said Vulture. “From the outpost.”
Ryker took the binocular back and gazed ahead. Vulture was right. By the looks of it the Imperial troops had actually fired on the rebels. There were a dozen or so bodies on the ground and plenty of yelling and screaming could be heard like a whisper over the crackling flames. A crowd of rebels had gathered and were moving toward the outpost, making what looked like a second attack on the base. They fired small arms, threw homemade explosives, and carried makeshift weapons. They didn’t have the discipline under fire that the troops had, but they were enraged and looked like they had little left to lose.
In response to the threat, the Imperial troops took aim again with their rifles. Ryker could faintly hear orders being shouted, probably a warning to the approaching crowd. They didn’t care. They brandished their weapons, threw their explosives, and charged the outpost. The soldiers opened fire.
It was a bloodbath.
***
“The actions taken by this King in regard to Renora have been violent and reckless,” said Caerwyn loudly. He stood on the floor of the Assembly, opposite Kalila, and he faced his fellow representatives. All of the balconies were packed. “I submit to you that an investigation is needed to consider the plight of the poor victims of Renora, citizens of this Empire, who now suffer at the hands of Imperial troops. Troops dispatched by the King against the recommendation of this body.”
The Phoenix Crisis Page 19
